Chapter 6 - Dinner Table Warfare
By five o’clock that afternoon, the atmosphere inside the house was wound tighter than a tripwire on an active minefield.
Diane hadn’t left the master bedroom all morning, but around three in the afternoon, the front doorbell had rung three separate times.
Diane had secretly invited her personal cavalry: Pastor Thomas from her local Baptist congregation, along with two of her closest church busybodies, Evelyn and Martha.
When I walked out of the basement wearing clean civilian clothes—jeans and a fitted black sweater—the dining room table was fully laid out.
Diane sat at the head of the table, dressed in a modest floral church dress, having finally surrendered my navy silk robe after I threatened to cut it off her with trauma shears.
Pastor Thomas sat to her right, holding a thick leather-bound Bible, while Evelyn and Martha sat with their hands folded primly over their cloth napkins.
Ethan sat slumped at the far end like a condemned prisoner awaiting the firing squad, his eyes bloodshot and rimmed with red.
“Laura, dear,” Diane said, her voice dripping with artificial, sugary sweetness that could rot teeth.
“Please, sit down and join us. Pastor Thomas was kind enough to come by to facilitate a family reconciliation prayer.”
I leaned against the doorframe of the dining room, crossing my arms over my chest, completely ignoring the empty chair they had left for me.
“Reconciliation requires two honorable parties who have had a misunderstanding,” I said smoothly.
“This isn’t a misunderstanding; this is an unauthorized occupation and embezzlement.”
Pastor Thomas cleared his throat, adjusting his gold wire glasses with a practiced, patronizing smile.
“Laura, my child,” the pastor began in a deep, theatrical baritone.
“Scripture tells us in Ephesians that a wife should submit to her husband as unto the Lord, and that family unity is sacred in the eyes of God.”
“Diane has shared with us the terrible emotional hostility you’ve brought back from your military deployment.”
“We understand that war changes a person’s spirit, making them cold and quick to wrath.”
“We are here today to help you lay down your anger, embrace your role as Ethan’s helpmate, and honor your elders as the Lord commands.”
Evelyn and Martha nodded vigorously in unison, murmuring soft, self-righteous amens beneath their breath.
I looked at Pastor Thomas, then at Diane, whose lips were curved into a smug, victorious little smirk.
She genuinely believed that bringing her church council into my dining room would shame me into backing down and playing the meek, submissive wife.
“Pastor Thomas,” I said, keeping my tone perfectly conversational.
“Does scripture say anything about the commandment: Thou shalt not steal?”
The pastor blinked, caught completely off-guard by my direct tone.
“Well, of course, the Eighth Commandment is fundamental, but—”
“And does scripture say anything about false witness and taking financial advantage of a deployed soldier who is overseas defending the very freedom that lets you run your tax-exempt church?”
“Now see here, young lady!” Evelyn interjected, gasping loudly in theatrical horror.
“Diane is a pillar of our women’s ministry! She has given so much of her widow’s mite to the parish!”
“She gave twelve thousand dollars of my combat hazardous duty pay to book a luxury suite on Royal Caribbean cruises,” I said, pulling out a manila folder from behind my back.
I stepped up to the table, dropped the thick folder onto the center of the mahogany wood, and flipped it open with a snap of my wrist.
High-resolution, color-printed copies of the bank audits, the wire transfers to Megan’s beauty school, and Diane’s lease agreements for her downtown property spilled across the tablecloth.
Pastor Thomas looked down at the top page, his eyes widening as he saw the explicit transfer notes and account numbers.
“What... what is this?” the pastor murmured, his theatrical baritone faltering.
“Those are the official financial records of Ethan and Diane Walker’s systematic embezzlement scheme,” I stated clearly.
“Including a sixteen-hundred-dollar monthly income Diane has been hiding while claiming indigent status to qualify for Ethan’s financial protection.”
Martha leaned forward, her eyes scanning Diane’s signature on the commercial lease agreement for Elmwood Avenue.
“Diane?” Martha asked, her voice squeaking with genuine shock.
“You told the prayer group last month that you had lost your home to foreclosure and were completely destitute!”
Diane’s face transformed instantly from holy serenity into purple, snarling fury.
“Get out!” Diane screamed at me, lunging across the table and sending a water glass crashing onto the hardwood floor.
“Get out of my house, you godless, disrespectful witch!”
“I’m calling the police!” Diane shrieked, snatching her phone from her purse with trembling, manic fingers.
“I am calling the sheriff’s department right now, and I am reporting you for elder abuse and terroristic domestic threats!”
I didn’t move an inch; I simply pulled out my own phone and checked the time.
May you like
“Go right ahead, Diane,” I whispered with a cold smile.
“Press nine-one-one. I’ve already briefed the dispatch supervisor on what to expect.”
